


The Stark Difference

by poolsofspidey



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-15
Updated: 2018-06-28
Packaged: 2019-05-23 14:05:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14935715
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poolsofspidey/pseuds/poolsofspidey
Summary: The first true glimpse Stephen caught of Stark’s character was his self destructive nature, which, admittedly, didn’t really help leave a better second impression. In all honesty, the second impression made the overall impression exponentially worse: an obsessive, impulse driven man hell bent on killing himself. Charming.That is, until the fate of the universe was put at stake and in order to save it he was essentially forced to get to know the man personally.Looking back, he really should have been able to notice all the glaringly obvious fallacies. Seriously, who would fly a nuke into space solely for the sheer applause?Or… When Tony and Stephen founded the New Avengers, saved the world, and maybe also fell in love along the way (though not without resistance).





	1. Cloaky Knows Best

The first word that came to mind when Dr. Strange considered Tony Stark was “ego.”

While Stephen at least had the decency and self awareness to admit that, yes, he himself may not have necessarily been a stranger to the term, he would still argue that his relationship was more that of being acquaintances, whereas Stark seemed to have been in a full blown affair with the word. What he means by this is that both him and Stark were warranted to have inflated egos: both publicly renowned in their respective fields, both graced with good looks and charisma, and overall, both men of immense wealth and power. Strange couldn’t say he didn’t relate.

Nonetheless, Stephen preferred to be more reserved, only utilizing his ego when he felt due necessary, though he did find it quite necessary on a many myriads of occasions (What can he say? Some people were practically begging him to remind them of their own inferiority in his presence). Strange fell more into the category of a pretentious asshole. Stark, on the other hand, was known to flaunt his ego and by any means necessary. Always one for showmanship, he seemed to want his presence alone to be testimony to his superiority. He fell more into the category of a self-obsessed asshole. (I mean, everything he did was basically a screaming demand for attention).

Post “Civil War,” as the media would like to call it (Stephen scoffs at the notion. Comparing the issue of slavery to a haphazardly thrown together group of incongruous individuals that broke up over not wanting to take responsibility for the fallout of their actions? Not quite the same in his book), Stark reaches out to him first.

Stephen had never been so grateful for his perpetually stoic face than when he meets Stark for the first time. The asshole didn’t even knock for God’s sake. The only notice he got was a quickly shouted but faintly heard “open sesame!” before the doors swung open. Loudly.

His heart hammered in his chest as his cloak instantly settled over his shoulders. Quick and heavy long strides brought him face to face with the intruder as he made his way to the entrance. Upon identifying the intruder, he was not amused.

Lo and behold, Anthony Edward Stark, pristine in a three piece suit, perfectly tailored to his every inch, dawning sunglasses even in the shade of the sanctum. Against his surprise, Stephen managed to execute his calm and collected demeanor perfectly.

“Mr. Stark,” Stephen drawled, “and to what do I owe this… pleasure.” The distaste rolling off his tongue was nearly palpable as he struggled to find the right word.

Stark, however, seemed to pay no mind to it. In fact, he seemed to not even notice his presence, or was deliberately choosing to ignore it. Stephen settled for the latter. Instead, Stark paced around the room, arms crossed around his chest as he inspected the many artifacts that lined the abode. He didn’t spare a second glance, scratch that, not even a first glance at the powerful sorcerer levitating atop the staircase.

Only when he began to fiddle with the relics did Strange’s irritation get the best of him.

“Cease that,” Stephen barked tersely. He levitated to the bottom of the stairs, transitioning directly into a stride as he approached the man.

Only then did Stark finally turn around. His gaze fell on the sorcerer, (calculating, Strange thought) but his body language remained unbothered. He removed his sunglasses, the only gesture of politeness he’d demonstrated thus far, tucking them away in his pocket before crossing his arms once more. He remained wordlessly stanced, peering straight into Strange’s eyes.

“Did you come here for a reason or are you just touring?” Stephen growled. “Say something.”

There was another beat of silence before Stark responded.

“Okay, yeah, wasn’t really sure what I was expecting” Stark muttered. “Frankly, I’m disappointed.”

Stephen’s eye twitched in growing agitation.

“You know when you didn’t know that you had a vision of how things were supposed to go until it doesn’t go that way?” Stark inquired, resuming his search around the sanctum. “Yeah, well you were supposed to bellow some absurd wizard mumbo jumbo and I was supposed to gag and tell you how gaudy you were being and to get with the 21st century.” Stark finished, matter of factly.

“If you’re done being disappointed then I suggest you leave,” Stephen countered.

Stark rolled his eyes, “Instead I feel like I’m dealing with a half assed wanna be wizard who's really a middle aged man’s midlife’s existential crisis of trying deny the loss of his youth.”

Stephen opened his mouth to retort before the cloak flew off his shoulder in a bee line to Stark, circling around him a handful of times with something akin to excitement and amusement.

“Aaaaand of course your cape is alive” Stark deadpanned.

“Cloak,” Stephen corrected sharply.

Stark waved his hand in a dismissive motion, leaving the “same difference” unsaid but hanging in the air. “What this guy’s name?” Stark inquired, watching the cloak in fascination.

Stephen exhaled in resignation, recognizing that there was no possibility he would be leading the conversation. Instead, he succumbed to Stark’s pace.

“That is the Cloak of Levitation, an ancient and powerful relic, not a pet. It has no name” Stephen stated snidely.

Stark stared at him unimpressed. “Uhh okay, first of all no.” Stark corrected, “this cape—cloak, whatever—is thoroughly anthropomorphic in every which way, so I’m nearly 100% sure you’ve given him a name.” Stark hesitated, “Actually make that 70% sure,” he corrected. “Only because you seem like the type of person who wouldn’t bother remembering their grandchildren’s name.”

The cloak remained floundering contently about the man.

“Stark, you are quickly wearing my patience,” Stephen warned, “Just state your business and then do me a favor and leave.”

“Fine, fine.” Stark collected himself, snapping his posture into something professional. “First order of business:”

Stephen waited intently.

“I hereby name this cloak Cloaky” Stark proclaimed. Cloaky twirled in glee at the declaration. Stephen died inside in both astonishment and disgust.

“For the love of—“

“Second order of business—woah!” Stephen began magically propelling Stark towards the door, finally determined to kick him out. The cloak protested and wrapped around the man’s shoulder, attempting to ground him to the spot.

“Wait, wait!” Tony rushed, “I have a legitimate purpose for being here, no more tomfoolery I swear!”

Stephen released his spell, though not because of Tony’s hasty and doubtful claim, but in response to his cloak’s behavior. He was stunned. Did the cloak choose another person? Stark for that matter? Wong had said the cloak was notoriously picky, and that it chose one master for the duration of his or her life span. Anxiety and dread curled at the bottom of his stomach. The unspoken implications were alarming.

“I’m here on official Avengers business,” Tony said. “To make you,” Tony gestured his direction, “official Avengers business.”

Stephen quirked his eyebrow.

“What?” He deadpanned.

“What I said Gandalf,” Tony grinned, “you’ve been invited to Hogwarts.”

Stephen stalled a moment, in sheer incredulity.

“No.” He stated firmly, before magically urging Stark out towards the doors once more.

Strange stopped as the cloak desperately returned to Strange’s shoulder, curling around his arms tightly. Stark was right, the cloak was anthropomorphic, and Steven could always detect its emotions. Right now, the cloak was pleading with him, urging him for something. Strange groaned internally.

He scrutinized Stark (who looked shaken and bewildered and ecstatic in the aftermath of the magic all at once) once more.

Stephen groaned in exasperation, pinching the bridge of his nose. It was a futile attempt to stave off the oncoming headache.

“Tea?” He offered, as he led him into the sanctum.


	2. Oh God

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The ball starts rolling.

_Dr. Stephen Strange, this is Tony Stark. Contact me if you have any questions, any concerns, and I’ll do my best to clarify and accommodate_ \- Friday, 3:39 pm: the day after his unannounced visit.

It was unexpectedly professional.

 _Okay I know like you don’t want to reply too soon after I reply because you don’t want to be seen as eager, so you’re going to wait an hour plus the duration of time it took me to reply before you reply. We don’t have to do this tango, I won’t think you’re easy if you text back right away_ \- Saturday: 4:12 am.

Strange takes back his previous statement.

 _So you like to play hard to get, I see_ \- Tuesday: 6:58 am.

 _Come on, don’t leave a guy hanging -_ Tuesday: 11:14 pm.

 _?!?!?! -_ Monday: 2:26 am.

The last message he sent was an audio link to Soulja Boy Tell’em “Kiss Me Thru The Phone.”

Why Strange had given him his phone number? A lapse in judgement is all he could say. If he had known he would be receiving texts from Tony Stark at all awful hours of the day, he definitely would not have exchanged numbers. Not that it would really matter much, Strange thought. In his short experience of knowing Stark, it was likely the man would end up obtaining his number through his own questionable means regardless. At least this way, Strange felt like he retained a tiny semblance of control in the relationship.

Control. Strange had always been a man of control. Every action, calculated. Every contingency, accounted for. It was what made him a brilliant neurosurgeon: his abilities to deduce the odds, whether it be determining which patients to accept or how to maneuver through an intricate procedure. Neuroscience was delicate and disciplined, both something which he never realized he took for granted.

That is, until he inherited the title of the Master of the Mystic Arts.

Magic went against every fiber of his being. It took a different type of concentration, one entirely foreign to the kind he had developed in medical school (Strange would like to interject that the former concentration allowed him to obtain his M.D. and ph.D. concurrently). It was irrational, and it couldn’t be reduced: it was a life force of its own, one you had to surrender yourself entirely to. His logical nature of being disdained the part of him that was able to uncritically accept the magic. It felt complacent, he wanted answers, wanted to understand, not only to just yield and manipulate; however, Wong had insisted the more you tried to rationalize, the more you were detracting from the art and the more you were straying from the practice.

It was a paradox: the absence of understanding was, in itself, to understand.

Hence, he participated in a strict daily regimen of mental training exercises in order to heighten his magical abilities.

He was in the middle of practicing yoga (the aforementioned strict mental training exercise), when his phone went off, startling him out of his thoughts (it would be more accurate to say startling him into his thoughts). He glanced over to where his phone sat on a table against the opposite wall, a gut feeling of dread coiling in his stomach. The brief image of pristinely groomed facial hair circumscribing a snarky grin flashed at the back of his mind.

He made his way over to the phone which vibrated insistently. He looked down at the lit screen.

_Incoming call: Tony Stark_

Speak of the devil and he shall appear.

...

Ignore the devil and he shall disappear? Strange made no movement to answer the phone.

 _One... two... three..._ The ringing cut short on its own. Strange commended Stark for recognizing when someone was deliberately ignoring their call.

He waited a moment, about to return to his exercise before his phone screen lit up once more, accompanied by the notification of two quick vibrations.

_Voicemail: 1 message from Tony Stark. 5:28 pm._

Reluctantly, Strange played the voicemail.

“Hey, Strange, it’s Tony Stark,” Stark began. “You know, just in case you’re not sure whose number this is, which, if I might add, would be the only reasonable explanation as to why you haven’t replied to any of my courteous messages.”

Strange scoffed.

“Okay, anyways, so I don’t mean hound you,” Stark paused for a moment, sounding out of breath, “because no means no and all and persistence isn’t sexy it’s harassment.”

Strange questioned if Stark was physically incapable of getting to the point or if he was deliberately rambling solely to irritate him.

“But—” his dialogue was interrupted by an alarming crashing noise followed by a groan. “Goddamn Smeagol” Stark grumbled under his breath.

It didn’t take long for Strange to figure out what was going on.

“Alright, I’m going to be straight with you now,” Stark continued, his voice more terse and less playful, “Our friendly neighborhood Spider-man’s creepy homicidal fanboy has gone haywire on 54th street.”

A moment pause and the sound of crashing. “Friday, give me the rundown on that wall’s structural integrity.”

“Usually, this guy—goes by the Green Goblin, can you believe it? Like jeez people say Iron Man is tacky, but in his defense he is green and he does look terrifyingly like a goblin.”

“Fri, update on that building. Civilians inside?”

“As I was saying, usually he’s not a big deal for Spidey but it seems like he’s rendezvous with some fresh villain faces and the potential collateral damage is catastrophic on top of what they’ve already done”

Stark grunted, a noise of pain if Strange didn’t to know any better.

“Not sure what their objective is, but we can figure that out later. Right now, I’d _really_ appreciate if you could come help out. Not for me, but for the people caught in the crossfire right now. I’ve got no backup, just me and Spidey. It seems like a couple of friendlies on the grounds have come out to play but we could really use you.”

Strange was already suited in his sorcerer attire by the time Stark finished his message.

Using his sling ring, he procured a portal before purposefully stepping through.

Immediately, a police car came flying in straight his direction. Strange dived to the side and rolled out the way, which proved to have been unnecessary as—what Strange would assume to be Spider-man because the suit mirrored the name quite precisely—used a web to catch the hood of the car, using the momentum to unceremoniously swing the car back onto the pavement. The vehicle slid to a stop, ungracefully impacting with a light post. Nevertheless, it was obviously effective as two frightened officers hustled out of the tolled vehicle together.

Spider-man turned his head sharply in Strange’s direction. The white eyes of his suit narrowed in assessment, then widened in recognition (Strange wasn’t sure how the boy could be entirely concealed yet be so expressive).

“Mr. Stark!” The Spider-man exclaimed, one hand on the side of his head engaging the audio link. “The wizard is here!”

Strange twitched in agitation, but his frustration was short lived as there were more pressing matters: namely, the cackling Green Goblin (Stark was right, the name was well suited) wreaking havoc. The villain steered directly for Spider-man, who skillfully maneuvered out of the way, firing shots back while also attempting to minimize damage.

Strange immediately set to subduing the other hostiles on the ground (a large group of similarly mutated humans, like the Green Goblin, but smaller, grayer, and less intelligent), recognizing that the Green Goblin was for Spider-man to deal with.

While the opponents were not necessarily skilled, they were tenacious and they were numerous, and Strange was starting to feel a creeping exhaustion. He’s managed to incapacitate three before Iron Man came into view, tackling five on his own.

As he dealt with his own threats, Strange couldn’t help but to watch Iron Man out the corner of his eyes. His suit was battered, the usual immaculate paint job of hot rod red and ostentatious gold that was seen on the cover of God knows how many magazines was severely scratched and dented all over. This didn’t seem to deter Iron Man, who continued to use his repulsors to attack the goblins, dodging their attacks and creating distance before going on the offensive again.

It was like a dance, a deadly powerful dance.

Strange focused back on the task at hand, using a combination of his mystic bolts and martial arts training.

It first happened when a shot fired over his shoulder, hitting the goblin dead between the eyes, that Dr. Strange and Iron Man began working in sync. Back to back, working in tandem they exchanged moves, disorienting and defeating the enemies. Soon, there was nothing left but a pile of motionless goblins around them.

Iron Man’s faceplate lifted.

Stark’s cheekbone beneath his right eye was cut, the skin around it purple and inflamed. A similar wound dawned his forehead and nose and blood leaked from the corner of his mouth. Stark seem to pay it no mind. Instead, he flashed a relieved smile.

“Thanks for joining the party,” Stark jested.

The situation was not lighthearted in any sense of the word, surrounded by destruction and death, but the mirth in Stark’s eyes was infectious.

“Wouldn’t miss it after such a desperate invitation now, would I?” Strange replied suavely, throwing in a wink just for kicks.

Iron Man rolled his eyes, but the smirk on his lips was undeniable. The thrusters on his boots turned on and Stark ascended lightly into the air.

“There are two friendlies. According to Friday, one Jessica Jones, currently on 8th and 56th” Stark informed, “From what I’ve seen, super strength, limited invulnerability.”

Stark began to fly away, Strange followed suit.

“Second is Luke Cage, with Jones, they’ve herded the rest of the goblins to that general vicinity” Stark continued, “Also super strength but less limited invulnerability”

Stark turned the corner and blasted a goblin as he headed towards the two currently defending against the load.

“Fourteen of these bad boys goblins left,” Stark grinned before his faceplate shut, the eyes of his suit lighting up. “You game?”

Strange responded by conjuring the crimson bands of Cyttorak and obliterating the goblin that pounced towards him.

The four fell into rhythm, soon to be five as Spider-man joined the fray after apprehending the Green Goblin. Less than half an hour later, the situation was entirely handled.

The five stood in silence, only the sound of heavy breathing between them.

Spider-man broke the silence.

“Heh soo,” He said awkwardly, rubbing the back of his head. Everyone turned in his direction, “Mr. Stark, if we’re done here I’m going to go, uh, help clean up the damages.” Spider-man saluted as if dismissed, and turned around to leave.

Stark sent him a sharp glare. “Uh huh, no kid you get back here right now,” Stark asserted, his voice adopting a paternal note. Spider-man winced.

“Now you told me,” Stark chastised, “that the goblin situation was under control and that was last week.”

Strange watched entertained as Stark continued his scolding, which he could tell was Stark’s expression of concern and relief. While Strange didn’t know the relationship between the two, he could tell they were close.

A different voice caught Strange’s attention.

“I guess we have to start all over with the counts for ‘days without destruction’ back at the bar,” Jones said, thoroughly unamused. She was disheveled, but collected herself in an indifferent manner.

Cage on the other hand, showed more distress.

Strange began to open a portal back to his sanctum seeing as his presence was no longer required. He realized Wong would probably be disproving of him leaving without warning.

“No, wizard, stay. We need to talk,” Stark said, abandoning his lecture to kid and instead walking towards him.

“But first,” he approached Cage and Jones, who looked upon him with undisclosed cynicism, “Bar, destruction. Tell me about it?”

At their lack of response he continued.

“Look, I end up having to pay for basically all the damages anyways, I can add one more bar to the list.” Stark admitted.

Cage raised a single brow in disbelief, but it was Jones who spoke for him, “And why would you want to do that.” Her voice was distrusting and her eyes were cold.

Stark remained unaffected.

“You, him, the wizard,” Tony said, emphasizing his words by pointing. He looked over to where Spider-man was standing, and paused a moment, “maybe sometimes the Spider,” he added.

Spider-man perked at being addressed. Strange was about to tell him to quit it with the wizard thing. Luke listened attentively. Jones looked straight up bored.

Stark smiled mischievously.

“And me. We make a pretty good team, don’t you think?”

Strange new where this was going. Worse yet, Strange knew his answer.

Oh God. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woohoo! I think after this, the story is *actually* going to start now that the exposition has been set. 
> 
> I know Stark seems super cheerful so far, but this is Stephen’s point of view. Next chapter will be in Tony’s point of view so be prepared for some low self esteem and self deprecation. Also expect some Rhodey, Pepper, the Accords, and most importantly, the New Avengers!
> 
> Side note: I know the techniques Dr. Strange’s used probably don’t follow the actual timeline at all, but humor me. Also, Luke Cage’s bar probably isn’t anywhere near where the fight went down, but once again, humor me. Lastly, I live in California so I have no idea what the layout of New York is like. Humor me. 
> 
> Bottom note: Lowkey worried you're going to find this chapter/this entire work is boring because I haven't gotten much into the IronStrange relationship yet. I promise it's coming soon! I just want to focus briefly on Strange and Tony separately before I start on their relationship.
> 
> Final note: As I mentioned before, proofreading and revising aren't my thing so I'm fairly certain there are going to be awful grammar mistakes and spelling errors. Thanks for reading through it!


	3. Lost and Found

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fate drew them together... or was it the cloak?

“Sir,” Friday politely interrupted.

Tony’s concentration as he analyzed the displays of past UN conference recordings didn’t waver, his hands continuing to hastily scramble over the keyboards, jotting down notes.

“I thought I might inform you that there is a…” Friday seemed to pause before adding, “a personless cloak at the front entrance of Stark Towers.”

That got Tony’s full attention.

“A what?” Tony asked, astounded, “show me.”

Friday pulled up the security camera footage, revealing one unsupervised Cloak of Levitation who was seemingly peering through the glass, awkwardly trying to worm its way in somehow.

Tony’s lips quirked. For a piece of red cloth with no facial features whatsoever, Tony could somehow detect the cloak’s tenacity and inquisitiveness as it gingerly prodded and assessed its surroundings.

“Friday, I know you know I named him Cloaky,” Tony groused lightheartedly, “I basically take you everywhere and don’t go playing coy with me by pretending like you don't eavesdrop on everything, even when you’re not supposed to.”

“Oh dear,” Friday said, feigning shame at being exposed, “and what would give you that impression, sir?”

Tony scoffed lightly.

“What did I just say about the coy thing, Fri? It’s really not a good look on you,” he playfully teased. “Nobody bypasses the word ‘cape’ and goes straight for ‘cloak,’” he replied smugly.

“Duly noted.” As an artificial intelligence, it was likely she really had.

“Well,” Tony added, “I guess we should invite our magical guest inside.”

“Ever so hospitable, Sir,” Friday retorted. Where she was picking up this snark from, Tony had no idea (it definitely wasn’t him).

The doors slid open and Tony watched through the security cam as the cloak seemed to straighten in surprise at the sudden movement before dashing in without reservation.

Tony tapped the stylus he had been holding against his lips. “Friday, talk to him, try to get him to interact,” Tony said thoughtfully, “I wanna see just how alive this thing is.”

“Cloaky appears to be receptive to my voice,” Friday reported. Tony studied the screen, scrutinizing how the cloak jolted, presumably after hearing Friday’s voice.

“Tell him to wait for me on the couch.”

Cloaky hustled to the couch obediently, primly situating itself against the cushions.

Tony thrummed with excitement at the revelation. He had already assumed the cloak was somehow capable of sight and hearing, given its uncanny abilities to interact with its surroundings. There were many possible explanations for that. But to be able to comprehend language, let alone when given no physical cues? Tony had to know more.

Tony observed for a while longer, noting how the cloak started to jitter, most likely in anticipation. The cloak’s childlike disposition made Tony’s heart swell in fondness.

“Maybe you should attest Cloaky’s sentience for yourself,” Friday countered. “It would be rather rude to keep your guest waiting.”

That was his cue.

Tony made his way onto the elevator, using the silver interior to gauge his reflection. Absently, he wondered if the cloak had a large enough consciousness to develop a sense of aesthetic. If it had, it would know that its host looked like a hot mess. Burning the candles at both ends had a tendency to do that to people, but right now, Tony didn’t want to think about the Accords, about Ross (corruption, control), about the UN (diplomacy, reassurance); he didn’t want to think about the Avengers, the New ones (empty eyes, tongues coiling in distrust) or the past ones (blue eyes, tongues curling in disgust); he just didn’t want to have to think anymore about all his mistakes (Sokovia, Ultron), or all his responsibilities (Rhodey, the public).

Nope, none of that (the guilt was a part of him: he would always be thinking). He had a Cloak to attend to 

The cloak was no longer settled on the couch by the time Tony arrived, aimlessly wandering the perimeter, perking as Tony stepped into the room.

“Soo,” Tony began, as he became face to face (?) with the cloak, “what is it that’s so important that you couldn’t just give me a phone call?”

Tony began back towards the elevator, gesturing the cloak to follow.

“Ditching the parole officer?” Tony jested, “good old Magic Mustache?”

Tony watched the light as the floors ascended.

“I totally had the facial hair first by the way,” Tony added for good measure.

The cloak seemed to hold his gaze

“Speaking of the wizard, is he going to come looking for you by any chance?” Tony turned to speak directly to the cloak, “I’m not going to be charged with cloak-napping now, am I?”

The elevator doors opened, and the cloak swiftly escaped, dodging the question.

“You know, they say silence is a guilty man’s trait,” Tony goaded, trying to get a read on the cloak. It was proving difficult.

Returning to his desk, Tony resumed his previous activities of trying to diffuse the bomb that is litigation, all the while verbally prodding the Cloak; however, Tony’s focus on his original task became increasingly more intense as time progressed. Soon he became completely engrossed in his work, entirely forgetting the Cloak which observed him. He was completely oblivious as it draped itself over his shoulders.

* * *

Stephen was unamused.

While he and the Cloak of Levitation were not always together (God help him if they were), there was a unspoken but mutual understanding that whenever Stephen passed through a dimensional gateway, the Cloak would accompany him. Generally, the cloak was never too far off from his person and would appear shortly after the portal was opened.

Only this time it didn’t.

Stephen stood waiting.

He felt like he should call out to beckon it, maybe it would show up after hearing him. Only he didn’t know how. He really hadn’t given the cloak a title.

He could call out for the “Cloak of Levitation,” but the address felt too impersonal. He generally had no qualms reciting the original ancient designations in order to conjure up or utilize certain relics; somehow though, after all the history, he felt the cloak deserved a distinction from its transcribed address. He could call out for “cloak,” but that sounded too blunt (much like yelling out “man” or “woman” to get their attention).

As soon as the thought crossed his mind, he regretted it.

“Goddamnit Stark,” He grumbled.

A deep sigh passed his lips.

“Cloaky,” He whispered harshly.

No response.

“Cloaky!” He reiterated once more, this time louder than the last.

He thought he may have heard a noise, but it was probably his wishful imagination.

“Cloaky?” he said slightly desperate.

After another moment of silence, his patience wore thin.

“For the love of God, Cloaky!!!” He shouted, frustrated.

A second voice called out, the disbelief apparent in their tone, “Cloaky?”

If Dr. Stephen Strange flinched at the sudden reply, he would have deny it. Groaning internally, he knew Wong would never let him forget this.

“If it is the Cape of Levitation you are looking for,” despite his deadpan expression, the amusement at his chagrin was undeniable, “then it left hours ago.”

Wong had just returned, standing in the doorway.

“Pray tell,” Stephen replied, hoping to end the conversation as soon as possible, “where to did it leave off?”

“Who knows,” he supplied, albeit unhelpfully, “like I said, the cloak is fickle, could be up to anything right now.”

The waft of a warm scent interrupted Stephen’s discontent. His eyes darted to the plastic bag clutched in Wong’s left hand.

“What is that,” Stephen asked despite knowing the answer, “is that—”

“Tuna melt, from the deli I told you about,” Wong stated proudly.

“What? You said you didn’t even have enough to—” Stephen cut himself short, “Nevermind, this conversation is irrelevant. What we need to be talking about is the cloak and if I need to be concerned.”

“Depends,” Wong began.

Stephen felt a haunting premonition.

“If you count me seeing the cloak entering Stark Tower while I was getting this sandwich, then yes, you should be concerned” Wong commented unceremoniously. Stephen suspects his lack of delicacy in the matter was deliberate. Ever since he first met the librarian, he’s learned to detect whenever Wong was gaining entertainment.

Stephen cursed internally. Of course it would. 

Using his sling ring once more, Stephen reopened a portal to a different destination, stepping through onto carpeted floors. He had been on this floor once before, the day following the Green Goblin incident when he and Stark had been discussing the parameters of the New Avengers. When Stark presented the idea on his first visit, he sold it as though it were definite; after their interaction that day, he realized it was barely a concept. Nonetheless, he offered Stark his assistance should the idea come to fruition.

“Dr. Strange,” a modulated voice announced. Strange had been already been added to the New Avengers protocol. Tony didn't intend for the protocol to be utilized, given that he didn't expect any potential members to be lurking around the building, nonetheless, it gave Strange liberal access around the tower. 

“Friday, was it?” Stephen replied.

“Yes, that is correct,” Friday confirmed, “how can I be of assistance to you?”

Stephen made his way onto the elevator after asking Friday to direct him to Stark’s location. Doors opening, he advanced into the lab, surveying the room. The room was large, undoubtedly, but the wide open floors were stationed with cluttered tables and the room was lit with countless holographic screens.

He ignored the content of the room, solely focused on finding Stark. His eyes caught on something red, lain over the side of a table. Striding over, it was definitely his cloak but his steps faltered as it came directly into view.

The flowing edges of the cape curled up as if acknowledging his presence, but then gently settled back down onto the sleeping figure. Stephen approached the table where Stark slept, hunched over and pillowing his head against his folded arms. Stephen wasn’t surprised to be catching Stark sleeping on the job.

His cloak harshly slapped him as he reached down to jostle the man awake. Retracting his hand, he raised a brow at the cloak, but decided not to go against it. Instead, he browsed through the papers strewn about the desk on which Stark slept, expecting it to be related to new tech developments for Stark Industries or something of that nature, and was surprised at what he actually found.

The Accords.

Or at least one section of it.

Or at least a hundred modified versions of the one section of it.

Each was annotated thoroughly, scribbled handwriting occupying the whole page. He internally questioned how many sections Stark had gone through in this exact same manner before he got to this one.

With a newfound interest, he decided to roam and take in the room around him.

The room was an endless interactive database on the Accords and everything relating to it.

...

There was also a holographic list of profiles under the label “New Avengers.”

_Major Carol Danvers: Captain Marvel_

_Dr. Stephen Strange: Sorcerer Supreme_

_Vision_

_James Rhodes:_ ~~_War Machine_ ~~ _Platypus Honeybear_

_Hope Pym/Van Dyne: Wasp_

_Matt Murdock: Daredevil_

_Jessica Jones_

_Luke Cage_

_Peter Parker: Spider-man*_

_Kamala Khan: Ms. Marvel*_

The list kept scrolling.

Underneath each person was data Stark had compiled on the individuals. It was extensive. The tech was intuitive to interact with and Stephen went through some of the profiles, finding himself impressed. He then opened his own file. There was information from his birth, to his education, to his medical career, and disturbingly a lot of content on his lifestyle post accident (which he further discovered had been drawn from collecting and cross referencing a plethora of seemingly arbitrary information).

His eyes skimmed over many of the words under his profile without actually reading, a substantial amount of the information on his life technical.

One sentence caught his eye: _be_ _st defense against invasion._

He dragged the sentence onto another screen, watching as it expanded into multiple displays. Immediately, he saw a video which he assumed to be a recording from one of Iron Man’s suits. There were numbers displayed around the edges of the video, energy level, thrust power, altitude, oxygen level, ect. but in the center, an enormous black hole like a gaping abyss against the blue sky. It gets larger, and larger, larger and something amidst the black galaxy comes into view and—

“Friday close it all,” Stark’s voice commanded.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One thing I realize that's hard about posting a chapter before you've written the next, is that if you have sudden ideas about how things could progress, you would need to change some content of what has already happened in the story. 
> 
> Then again, I have a super flighty mind... writing this one chapter I have like 10 subchapters, each with different plots. 
> 
> Foresight and planning... I could use some of that.


	4. Where were you?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Does this categorize as angst? Hmmm...

Neither spoke. Silent eye contact resounded between them. 

Strange stood motionless, his posture exuded an air of indifference as though nothing were at all amiss, as if he hadn’t just been caught red handed trespassing through someone else’s property. Tension formed between Tony’s brows as he frowned disapprovingly at the man. 

He crossed his arms tightly against his chest as he began to speak.

“Dr. Strange, how nice of you to stop by.” he voiced flatly, punctuating each word dangerously.  “Great seeing you again, I loved the huge invasion of my privacy, by the way. Now leave.”

Strange seemed to consider his words, but dismissed the notion like an unsolicited suggestion.  Breaking their gaze, he began taking slow calculated steps towards a nearby table. His movements echoed one of a lawyer skillfully unnerving a witness in court. 

“I’m sorry, did you not hear me? Out. Shoo. Ta-ta. Bye.” Tony reiterated jarringly. He narrowed his eyes, “Or is that not clear enough for you.”

“If I recall correctly,” Strange began, ignoring Tony, “and I would considering I have photographic memory.” Strange drifted from his exposition, scanning over a disarray of papers on the desk.  The documents scarcely shifted as he trailed the tips his fingers across them. 

“The press release following the invasion of New York diligently reported that the external threat had been neutralized at the full disclosure of SHIELD and government intelligence,” Strange finished after extension. 

The fixed expression of displeasure on Tony’s face didn’t falter. “Congrats, I’m glad they teach how to read at wizarding school.”

Strange continued unprovoked, “Somehow, your little video diary entry makes me begin to think otherwise.”

Shit. That goddamn video. He should have erased it a long time ago. Nothing good ever came out of it. I mean, how many times had he actually watched it, let alone done something productive with it? 

With regards to the former, only once (not even thirty seconds in, he came to JARVIS’s voice alerting him he had been experiencing another “panic attack”). As for the latter, zero (the video was only arguably productive in the twisted sense that it accelerated his nightmares which fueled him to work even more tirelessly). Aside from being a constant reminder of his vulnerability and weakness, it really was—as Strange had so eloquently put—just a “video diary entry”: diaries were an asylum for the tormented, the secrets that you couldn’t share with anyone.

“Well maybe you shouldn’t be snooping around in obviously confidential material,” Tony retaliated, restlessly tapping his foot. “Think whatever you want but if you ever go through my files again...” he left his sentence open ended, the unspoken threat loud and clear. 

“Care to enlighten me on what you decided was too confidential for the public?” Strange inquired, though his tone was undoubtedly imperative. 

Strange had seemed like the type of man who would refuse to take a hint. As per usual, Tony’s intuition proved to be spot on. 

“The suit malfunctioned under the mechanical stress of rerouting the missile,” Tony informed. The muscles in his forearm flexed rigidly. “Screens went out, didn’t see anything.” 

He only saw their armies, the massive and endless fleets of promised destruction. Then it was devouring black. 

“Surely your technology would have kept a record of the event,” Strange pushed, feigning ignorance, “Oh, I don’t know, like some sort of a video, for example.” Strange threw Tony an accusatory look.

Strange wasn’t exactly subtle, and Tony knew exactly what the man wanted to hear. Not that he would give it to him anyhow. 

“I didn’t design my suits to withstand the type of environment it was exposed to. Suit lost all of its functionality,” Tony replied automatically. How many times again had he rehearsed this same spiel?

“Stark,” Strange warned, his replies becoming colder, “I’m not asking out of leisure. I keep a watchlist of individuals and other beings from other realms that may pose as a threat to this world,” Strange informed matter-of-factly. “So tell me Stark, what did you see up there?”

The man’s entitlement was incredible. Tony’s blood began to simmer.

“Well, since you obviously didn’t have the Chitauri on your handy dandy watchlist before the actual threat occurred, I’m going to constructively point out that you’ve been doing a pretty shit job at keeping count,” Tony countered, flippantly evading the question. It was his number one defense mechanism: provoke the enemy. Was it the best course of action? Probably not. But that had never deterred Tony before. It was something he’d been practicing all his life.

Strange grimaced. “There are secrets hidden that even I, the Master of the Mystics Arts, am not privy to,” he spat defensively. “I am a sorcerer, not some all knowing deity.”

Seriously? Privy to? Was unnecessarily pretentious vocabulary part of the sorcery job description or something?

Tony uncrossed his arms to shrug. 

“Well, hate to break it to you, but neither am I,” He remarked, walking away from Strange back towards his desk. Tony threw one last sneering look over his shoulder, “And I’m getting real tired of the extra-terrestrial, extra-dimensional, extra-whatevers, and magical jackasses invading my life. I don’t have answers for you, Strange. Aliens came, there was a giant hole in the sky, I flew a nuke through it, hole closed, New York saved. End of story.”

Tony sat back down, opting to ignore the intruder. He grabbed a pen and restarted on his accord revisions. The effort was futile, his mind too busy being overwhelmed by Strange’s presence. Nonetheless, he pretended to mark up the paper, scribbling empty meaningless words in the margins.

Strange observed Tony’s as he wrote, noting how his clenched hands suffocated the innocent pen. 

“What is it that has you—the great, untouchable Tony Stark—like this? So obsessed, so hasty, so desperate to end the conversation,” Strange emphasized, opening and waving his arms around the room, his voice scoffing in false amazement. 

He stopped for a moment in contemplation, before adding, “What is it that has you so frantically trying to scrounge together a makeshift team of semi-abled superheroes? And why?” 

_ Don’t  _ take the bait. Don’t take the bait. For the love of God, Tony, don’t take the bait. 

Adhering to his own advice, he replied with the sound of pen scratching against paper. Strange continued to wait.

At the lack of response he added, “Don’t you think your ‘best defense’ should know.”

Aaaand…. bait taken.

It was as though a chemical catalyst set off inside him. Tony slammed his hands loudly against the table as he stood up abruptly, the chair scraping gratingly against the floor. Gritting his teeth, he threw Strange a vicious glare. 

“Our best defense?” he spat the word venomously, turning his head away and looking back down at the table. He stared intensely at the space between his hands, “Yeah, you could be our best defense, only you’ve been doing absolutely nothing.”

Tony clenched his fist. Everything coming back to him, suffocating him.

“Where were you? Oh mighty Sorcerer Supreme? Oh mister Master of the Mystic Arts?” Tony barked contemptuously. “Where were you when New York was destroyed after a literal army of aliens rained down from the sky with the sole purpose of subjugating our entire planet?”

Banging his fist solidly against the table, Tony yelled, “Where were you?!” His voice was seething in anger and anguish.  

“Because you weren’t there, I had to do everything. I’m the one who had to fly that goddamn missile into space. I’m the one who has to think about it every single fucking day.” Shoving the chair aside, he stalk towards Strange and harshly shoved a finger against the other man’s chest in emphasis as he spoke. “And you have the balls, to come in here, into my lab, without my permission, and interrogate me, hound me about what happened that day?! What didn’t happen that day? Huh, Strange? For the love of God tell me! Because of you I—”

Where was he? 

Mangled corpses littered the harsh terrain of a planet of obsidian rocks. Their bodies were still limp, not yet consumed by the rigor mortis: they had only freshly been deprived of their lives—and he had been too late. 

Why did he look at him like that? Cold, imploring blue eyes hardened by betrayal and disappointment? 

_ You could have saved us. Why didn’t you do more? _

It’s because he’s left her vulnerable, ready to be exploited for mindless perversion. She’s in the distance, but out of reach, and out of time. The fleets are already swarming towards the Earth.

“No,” his tormented voice was a ghost cry of a broken whisper. 

He retreated back to his desk. “I’m not doing this right now. Don’t let the door hit you on the way out.” His voice mirrored his usual snark, but it trembled slightly. It was a sign of weakness he tried to suppress, but fear claws its way out through the throat. 

“I am not leaving until you tell me what I deserve to know, Stark.”

“Just leave!” Tony screamed, throwing everything off the desk in a flurry of rage. Papers scattered to the floor. 

Bait, checked. 

“Stark,” Strange warned.

Hooked and reeled? Double check.

Instantaneously, Tony spun around, activating his gauntlet from around his wristwatch. He stabilized his arm, having used the other to support his wrist, aiming the repulsor directly at the other man. 

“Get the fuck out of here right now,” Tony ordered. 

Panic was swallowing him. He was scared, so scared. His body was screaming, his fight or flight was fluctuating precipitously. His mind was going haywire. Everything was too much. He just needed it to stop. He’d do anything for it to stop.

“You don’t really believe I’d feel threatened by—”

A blast fired, narrowly bypassing Strange’s head. Glass shattered, clattering against the floor as it hit the wall behind him. “I don’t give a shit about how you feel,” Tony growled. “Don’t make me ask again.” 

Strange’s eyes widened in surprise at the action. He took one last look into Tony’s eyes (crazed, broken). 

“Just. Leave.”

Wordlessly, Strange backed off, turning around. He used his ring to effortlessly open a portal. 

He left, not sparing a second glance as he crossed through the portal. He dignified himself no less haughtily than when he had come through the first time. The cloak glanced back and forth between the two men, conflicted. It took one last worrisome look at Tony before regretfully tearing away from his direction and trailing after his master through the portal. 

The portal closed with a sizzling noise, a spark being the last vanishing remnant of Strange’s visit. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the relative delay!! In good news, I have the next two chapters almost done! (This chapter started as one giant one and then I realized I should probably split them up). 
> 
> And spoiler alert, the IronStrange relationship is really going to start soon<3   
> Ahh that makes me so happy I love them together. 
> 
> Thanks for continuing to read this:)

**Author's Note:**

> First time uploading something... Not really expecting anyone to read it (not that I would appreciate that, that would actually be amazing). 
> 
> Many more chapters to come!
> 
> Basically, I am in quite the predicament: the lack of IronStrange content is so dire that it has led forced me to make my own in order to fill the void. 
> 
> If this prospective work could help fill the IronStrange void in someone else's heart, that would make me extremely happy. 
> 
> (This didn't undergo any proofreading or revision, so my apologies)


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